


Nightmares // Visions

by LokianaWinchester



Series: Jesus Christ Superstar [23]
Category: Jesus Christ Superstar - All Media Types
Genre: Happy to tell you that this fic, Here I am with Angst, M/M, Supreme Angst, hurts like a bitch, i love making Jesus suffer, miserable as it is (especially since it took me 3 days to write), second chapter is Here and it's terrible, which will be Much Worse!! So don't forget to look forward to that!, will have a second chapter (hopefully soon)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 17:26:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16022561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokianaWinchester/pseuds/LokianaWinchester
Summary: Chapter 1: Jesus has a nightmare and subsequently checks in on Judas. Hurt with a bit of comfort :)Chapter 2: Hurt without comfort.





	1. Chapter 1

He was paralysed.

He could not move, just stood in silence.

What Jesus wanted to do was scream, run, act out against what he was being forced to see.

And yet he remained still.

The pain in his chest began to grow, as the desperation and dread mixed with his inability to help.

He tried to close his eyes, but even then he saw clearly what was going on.

Jesus stared. His eyes were filling up with tears. Silently he cried.

When he regained his voice I was too late.

The rope and the dark figure hanging down from it were the focus of his concentration.

“No!” he screamed. An ugly sound directed at nobody and everything simultaneously.

* * *

 

Jesus woke up with a start. He was trembling, shaking with fear. The blankets were pushed together at his feet and the baggy t-shirt he was wearing to bed was sweat-soaked. His scream was still ringing through the room, as if the walls were mocking him, screaming back at him. He hoped he had not woken anybody else up from their much needed sleep.

His breaths were coming fast, whimpers leaving his throat as he wiped away the tears that were running down his cheeks. Jesus buried his face in his hands and leaned forward. The second he closed his eyes, the scene appeared before his eyes again and he could not suppress a terrified sob.

“No!” His voice gave out abruptly. _It was only a dream. Only a bad dream_ , he tried to tell himself, but there was a feeling, that had settled in his chest, a feeling of premonition that terrified him more than he could express.

He needed to check on Judas. Even though he had no claim on him, no right to meddle with what he did and where he chose to follow the path of his life, he needed to know that he was okay. Because Jesus was hopelessly in love with him and needed to know for the most selfish of reasons.

He turned to sit at the edge of the bed. The floor was cold beneath his feet, his legs were weak, trembled when he stood up. Hectically, he tucked his hair behind his ears. It was damp as well; he felt disgusting, but he needed to see Judas now, he needed to be sure he was alright.

He did not remember how long he stood in front of the door, waiting for it to open on its own. The irrational fear that something might be wrong sat too deep within his mind.

Eventually, he peered inside. Judas was lying on the bed, face angled towards Jesus. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, unlike Jesus’ own that was always tangled in the mornings.

Jesus saw his chest moving. Breaths quietly leaving his lips. He was so beautiful; he was too beautiful for the things Jesus saw to ever happen. He could not allow them to pass. He needed to protect Judas because it was the only way he could show his love without making a move that would be rejected.

A choked sob escaped his throat and immediately his hand flew to his mouth, clasping over it as if it would help him stay quiet. As if that would erase the sounds he already made.

Judas stirred, opened his eyes.

“Jesus?” he mumbled, sleep clouding his voice.

Jesus took a step back. He did not need to bother Judas. He could let him sleep.

“Are you okay?” Judas asked. He sounded worried. More awake than before.

“Yes,” Jesus pressed out between clenched teeth to keep further sobs from slipping up.

Judas sat up.

“Did you cry?” he asked.

Jesus shook his head but at the same time tears welled up in his eyes.

“Come here,” Judas said softly and Jesus’s legs seemed to move by themselves. He stood before Judas, tears finally spilling over and when Judas got up and held him in his arms, chest pressed against chest, two heartbeats aligned, Jesus let go. He cried because the fear was still there, but then it was pushed aside by rationality, by the clear knowledge that Judas was right there, holding him upright even when his legs wanted to give out beneath him.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually said, his voice still shaking, every word aching with the intensity of his feelings for Judas that he could not let out in any other way.

“It’s okay,” Judas replied, his voice so soft that Jesus nearly started crying again. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I… I don’t have to,” Jesus said and pulled back from the embrace. “You should go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you up.”

“No,” Judas replied. His hand held Jesus’ upper arm firmly, making it impossible for him to step back further.

“I know you’re upset and I’m here for you. I thought you knew that.”

The sincerity in Judas’ face surprised Jesus, even though he knew he should not expect anything less of him.

The hand around his arm loosened and Judas just looked at him. The pale light of the moon shining through the window behind him made his blond hair glint silver; Jesus was sure he was wearing the most yearning, deeply longing expression, but he had no control over his features.

He took a shaky step forward and took Judas’ extended hand; a warm and comforting pressure against his own.

“I had a nightmare,” he started. “It was bad. You were there.” Judas gestured for him to sit at the edge if the bed. Jesus did so and looked up at Judas.

“I’m here now,” he said.

“But you were dying,” Jesus choked out. “It felt so real.”

The tears were back now, ugly sobs racking through his body. He closed his eyes; he was aware, that this was embarrassing. He should never have come here. But then he felt Judas’ other hand at his thigh, a gentle touch, yet firm, grounding, and he opened his eyes again.

Judas was kneeling in front of him.

“I’m okay,” he whispered and pressed Jesus’ hand that he was still holding, over his heart. “I’m alive and I’m here with you. It was only a dream.”

Jesus nodded. He breathed out shakily.

Judas might never know what he really meant to Jesus, but at least he was here now, so real and safe and _alive_. He helped Jesus breathe and calm down, and when he wrapped his arms around him and Jesus wished he could confess his love to him, he even helped him sleep.

The nightmare never returned, but in its stead something infinitely worse came to pass.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any mistakes; I'm already half-asleep.

The nightmare never returned, but in its stead something infinitely worse came to pass.

* * *

 

Coming back had been a shock. Jesus was hurting; the wounds were gone, the only visible marks of his torture those in his hands and feet. But he was still aching terribly, all over. It felt as if the wounds were still there, inflamed; it was a throbbing pain, crippling.

Coming back had been unwanted. He had not known about it before. He had died thinking that he would stay that way; he was human, he was only a man. He had always thought so, had never set himself above others or pretended he was more. Sure, there had been signs and warnings in a sense, but he had never truly believed them.

Now, waking up in pain, he realised he should have.

With every breath he took, the pain eased away and finally he could think clearly.

He needed his friends to know he was alive. He needed to find Judas before he did something stupid.

He needed to find Judas and make up for lost time.

He needed to find Judas and kiss him a second time, to make sure Judas knew he meant it the first time.

He needed to find Judas and finally, finally tell him how he truly felt.

Jesus had known of his end before it was obvious to the others; he had known that he needed to say goodbye, that he could not leave them just like that.

In the chaos of the last supper, he had given in, eventually, confessing.

_One in our midst here…_

Judas had watched him, he knew what he was about to say. Somehow he knew and it hurt Jesus even more that he had to. Their fight tore his heart apart.

_One who I loved._

Their eyes had met, Judas had understood in that moment. Jesus knew he understood, which was why the following fight had only hurt deeper. It was about more than Judas’ betrayal. It was Judas’ hurt over _Why did you never tell me?_ And Jesus’ stubborn refusal to apologise.

Judas had hurt too in that moment, but even though they shared the pain, it had not been lessened; it had only increased. They had made it worse for each other without even knowing.

Lost in memories, Jesus stumbled from the tomb; the stone that was meant to keep it shut had already been pushed to the side.

It took him a moment to gather himself, before he pulled the cloak he had found discarded on the floor next to him, closer around his shoulders, deeper into his face. He could not risk being recognised. Not yet.

The way to their lodging was tedious; the sun was still burning down onto the city as mercilessly as before. The closer he came to the street, the more anxious he became. He needed to see Judas, he needed to apologise.

But before he could turn the corner to the house he knew his friends to stay at, somebody gripped his arm. Alarmed, he turned around, to find himself facing Mary.

“No,” she breathed.

Jesus took both her upper arms and tried to keep her upright, but she instantly collapsed into against his chest.

“No,” she repeated, while her hands clenched into fists, gripping the cloak at Jesus’ back.

“I’m here,” he said. His voice cracked. It was the first time he had spoken since he woke up.

After a few more moments, Mary shook her head and loosened her grip. She wiped a tear from her cheek while she took Jesus’ hand and pulled him into the shadow between two houses.

“How?” She asked. Her eyes were big, full of questions Jesus was not sure he could answer himself. This was one of them.

“I’m not sure.”

She continued to stare.

“And you’re okay? Your back? Your hands?” Gently she brought his hands up to look at them and took in a sharp breath at the wound.

“Jesus,” she breathed out, looked up at him, as if only now, she truly believed what she saw.

“Yes.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry,” Mary sobbed, the effort to suppress the tears were in vain. Jesus opened his arms and immediately, she clung to him, closer than before.

“Where is he?” he asked quietly. His heart was beating fast in anticipation.

Mary went still. She pulled herself free from his arms.

“Oh Jesus,” she said. The pitiful look in her eyes should have told him, the worried tone of her voice should have been enough indication and yet he was blinded by love, by sheer mindless hope.

“We found him too late,” she said. There was fear in her eyes, as if she was frightened of Jesus’s reaction. Fear and regret.

“Judas?” he asked. He needed to know. They could not be speaking of the same person.

Mary nodded. “Do you want me to take you there?” she asked when there was no reaction.

Jesus only nodded. The anxiety had drained from him, and so had everything else. He was petrified. Numb.

* * *

 

The rope and the dark figure hanging down from it were the focus of his concentration.

* * *

 

Jesus’ steps became faster. He knew where Mary was leading him.

The field, the barren tree had seemed so familiar when they had passed it on their way into Jerusalem, but Jesus had been ignorant.

He started running. Mary’s footsteps became quiet and eventually died down completely. When he reached the spot he was alone.

_One in our midst here…_

Judas had watched him, as if he knew of the future, too knowing, too trusting. And yet with a mind of his own and a plan set for doom.

One in our midst. Jesus came to a halt next to the tree. There were no marks, no footprints in the bone-dry ground. There was no physical evidence. Despite this, Jesus felt the reality of the dream around him. Only now, it was real. The tears were coming back now with full might as he tried to hold on to his last shred of control.

A part of him wished he was as immobile, as tragically mute as in his nightmare, but the cry fought its way up his throat leaving his lips without articulation.

A sound of pure agony.

Jesus fell to his knees. He felt the pain rattle through his body, but he did not care. It was absolutely insignificant, compared to the torment that was ripping his heart to shreds, clouding his mind.

_One who I loved._

Their eyes had met and Jesus had seen recognition. He had seen resolve, but he had never thought it would lead to this.

His confession of love to Judas had been the last straw in a way; Judas thought himself lost already. He had been dead even then, set on his path steady and secure. He had known where to go to hurt Jesus the most. But he had not done it out of spite. He had done it because he had hurt as badly as Jesus was hurting now.

The kiss had not been a promise.

_Jesus leaned forward._

He buried his face in his hands, sobs racking through his body uncontrollably.

_Judas’ arms came up around him, a reflex more than a conscious action. He was so used to comforting Jesus. To being needed._

Jesus let out another scream. He did not care about people passing him, or even recognising him. He did not care about anything.

_Their lips met and Jesus whimpered, opened his lips._

The sun was beating down onto his shoulders; as if it was a physical weight, Jesus felt himself struggle.

_Judas reciprocated. And when the kiss broke, he pulled Jesus’ head to his chest._

“No!” Jesus choked out. His throat was sore, his entire body was aching again. He broke down, curled into himself at the base of the trees, among the yellow grass and dry, cracked ground.

The kiss had been a Farewell.

_Jesus listened to Judas’ heart. For a moment, he heard it before the harsh reality caught up to him._

Jesus thought about how this heart had stopped beating, how the sound that had been his lullaby more times than he could count, had faded away, how the mind that had spoken calmly and rationally to him, had been taken over by fear and desperation and how the body that he had clung to, the warm, gentle presence that was Judas, now was cold.

Dead.

* * *

 

When the screams had left Jesus, all he could do was cry. He cried not only for lost opportunities of the future, but more for gestures he had taken for granted; touches he never knew he would miss, looks he had not directed the right way and words he had spoken with too much ease.

He cried for the past, because his future was lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yea.... I meant it when I said the second chapter would be worse. Please leave me kudos or Yell at me in the comments.


End file.
